


Taken

by JantoJones



Series: Stand-alone Two (The 2nd 100) [31]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Napoleon and Illya find themselves in a small cage.





	Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the 'What's My Line?' challenge in Section VII on LJ. The prompt was 'A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse'.

Neither man fully understood how they had ended up in the small cage, nor did they know who had put them there. The barred iron structure was a cube which measured only six feet along each edge, and had a large lock keeping the small doorway closed. It stood in the centre of an otherwise empty room. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin and both woken in the cage ten minutes previously and, once they’d discovered their communicators were gone, had immediately begun their escape attempt. The contents of their pockets had formed a small pile between the two.

“So you have nothing.” Napoleon stated, staring at the pile. “Nothing at all?”

“I was on leave, and in the grocery store, when I was taken,” Illya replied. “Do you think I routinely carry my equipment with me when I am not working?”

“It isn’t entirely unknown.”

Illya fixed his partner with an icy glare, although it didn’t have the desired effect. Napoleon knew his partner too well to be intimidated by him. He merely raised an eyebrow in response.

“Yes. . . well,” Illya mumbled, backing down. “Mr Waverly had some extremely expressive words on that subject when my trousers caused the laundromat to burn down. Accounting weren’t too happy about the compensation bill either. Why don’t you have anything with you?”

Napoleon shrugged apologetically.

“I was on a date with a girl who doesn’t know what I do,” he explained.

“So?”

“So, she is tactile,” he smiled at earlier memories of just how tactile she could get. “I couldn’t risk her finding anything. I hope she forgives me for disappearing.”

Illya sighed, a little overdramatically, and asked why he didn’t have least have his explosive shoestrings. Napoleon waggled a foot to show he was wearing loafers.

“A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” he suddenly exclaimed.

“I do not see how a horse would help the situation,” Illya stated, in a deadpan tone. “Things are cramped enough in here as it is.”

“I was being metaphorical, Illya,” Solo began to retort. “I was using it to mean I would give anything to have something. . .”

He stopped talking when he saw the twinkle in the Russian’s eye. Anyone else wouldn’t have seen it beyond the stony expression, but Napoleon could, and he knew Illya was teasing him.

“I guess we’re just going to have to wait it out.”

Almost as soon as the words came out of Napoleon’s mouth, the door to the room opened. The agents glanced to each other with puzzlement when two officers of the NYPD entered. 

“What are you doing in there?” asked Officer Myers, looking around for a way to release the two men.

“Sunbathing,” Illya answered sarcastically.

“Take no notice of him,” Napoleon said quickly. “He doesn’t take well to being caged up.”

Producing his U.N.C.L.E. ID, Napoleon introduced himself, and his partner, and asked the officers what had brought them there.

“We had several reports of two bodies being carried into this building,” Officer Best. “Don’t worry, we’ll soon have you out of there.”

\------------------------------------------------------------

Three hours later, Solo and Kuryakin were sitting in the office of Alexander Waverly, giving their verbal report of events.

“Along with officers Myers and Best, we waited for our captor to return,” Napoleon told his boss.

“We did not have to wait long,” Illya interjected.

“Do you know who he is?” asked Waverly.

“No.”

After being taken into custody by his U.N.C.L.E. captives, the man had bitten down on a cyanide capsule he’d had hidden in his mouth.

“We have no way of discovering who he was, or if he was working for someone else,” Napoleon continued. “Basically, we are left with more questions than answers.”

“That isn’t unusual,” Waverly answered, with a harrumph. “Very well, gentlemen. Get your reports written before you leave.”

Just before they left, Mr Waverly called them back.

“I know this kind of thing is an occupational hazard, but please watch your backs. I wouldn’t want to lose my best agents unnecessarily.”

As they headed for their office, neither man spoke. They both knew they were constant targets, but it was disconcerting that they had been taken so easily.


End file.
